


Per Aspera Ad Astra

by gracieluu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Clones, F/F, F/M, Gen, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mandalorian Culture, Parent-Child Relationship, Slow Burn, The Force, droids have feelings too, sequel trilogy needs some help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracieluu/pseuds/gracieluu
Summary: Just when the Mandalorian thinks his life cannot get more difficult after taking on the responsibility of the Child, another force user crosses his path - complicated, unskilled with a blaster, and entirely too fond of droids for his tastes.Once is a coincidence, twice is a pattern, and where one Force user goes more are sure to follow.But the Mandalorian is not the only one who has sensed the pattern and now it seems like the entire galaxy is interested in his little green Foundling, his clueless mechtech, and the odd man who claims to have learned of it all in a dream.
Relationships: Cara Dune/Omera, Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Per Aspera Ad Astra

At first Luke Skywalker thought he was dreaming. They were vivid, as of late, chaotic and frantic and full of images he could not understand, and they were beginning to wear on him. This vision was much the same. It was only when he opened his eyes and saw the man covered in steel standing before him, ground beneath his feet soaked with blood and fist clenched tightly around something he could not see, that he realized the Force was trying to tell him something and he would be wise to listen. 

“What happened?” Han did not sound overly surprised to see Luke collapsed on the couch, covered in sweat and clutching his head. “Too much juuma?” 

His overabundance of concern was noted. 

“Luke?” 

Han sat down on the couch next to him and touched his back, startling him out of thoughts and searching mind in full. 

“Han,” Luke grasped for the words, voice thick and heavy through his hands. “Did you wake Leia?” 

“Try the other way around.” Han kicked his legs out onto the table in front of him, an air of relaxation about him that Luke envied. “She shoved her little feet square in my back and kicked. Apparently, snoring doesn't sit well with the infirm.” 

“You might not want to compare her pregnancy to an illness.” 

Luke felt the vision spring forward again, pressing against his mind like fingers on glass. It gripped him, pulling him further and further away from Han, away from Coruscant and out past the far reaches of the New Republic, until it stopped and he saw the man dressed in steel once again. 

He was a Mandalorian. 

Tall, as Luke generally assumed them all to be, and sparsely armored in differed colored bits of metal and flak weave. Save, of course, for the bright silver helmet on his head. He stood against a muted background that made his helmet stand out even more. The man held his attention only for a moment as the vision shifted, blurring out as another creature came into focus. 

_“Find them before he does.”_

Little green hands reached for him and Luke forgot that he couldn’t reach back. 

When he tried, lifting an arm that suddenly felt weighed down by a thousand suns, the vision vanished and he was left staring at the dimly lit living room in Han and Leia’s apartments. 

Find them. 

The instructions were clear, if not a little ominous. Luke let out a small breath, relaxing ever so slightly as he searched for Ben’s presence at the far reaches of his mind. He had been gone for a while, where Luke did not know, and he was starting to think that he might have well and truly moved on. 

But he felt him then. 

Han shifted next to him, scooting down on the couch just a little bit more as he closed his eyes. 

“Han?” 

“Hmm?” He didn’t open them. 

“How do you feel about a trip to the Outer Rim?” 

* * *

If Zirry Vash never saw another krill it would be too soon. Two weeks into her service project, and she was certain she had begun to glow in the dark from all the ways she had been fed the buggy little crustacean. She was supposed to bring home spotchka, in exchange for her services, but even the tangy alcohol had all but lost its appeal after she discovered it was colored with krill carpices.

“Did you find it?”

Omera was crouched next to the furthest seed pod, full basket of krill balanced on her knees, as she watched Zirry struggle to dig the fisher droid’s arm out of the sludge.

The fisher droid was damaged the day before in the klatooinian raid, making her already difficult job even more complicated. She was not a soldier, or a mercenary, or really anything but athletically average.

She was a mechtech.

Zirry liked to think of herself as a damn good one until this whole mess started. Now, she would be lucky if she graduated at all, let alone anywhere close to the top of her class.

“No, but I did find Winta’s pog stick.” Zirry bent down until her chest was fully submerged, cursing the Collective for giving her the planets they had. One in her cohort was sent to Naboo and another to Onderon. Last year, the entire group had gone to Dantooine (although the kath hounds meant that had ended up being more effort than it was worth) and the year before that a pair found themselves lost on Coruscant for weeks, too distracted by the whirl and twirl of a city so vast to remember that they were meant to be performing a service.

And yet here she found herself, knee deep in krill bog, hoping that the village could find mercenaries to protect them from klatooinian raiders, and imagining all the ways this could have been avoided if she had just done what her grandmother suggested and applied to work in the stim labs instead.

When she touched something particularly slimy, she fought the urge to recoil back and give up entirely. She needed the hours off-world almost as much as her people needed the supplies she was meant to bring home and, given the centuries old agreement between Sorgan and Ivcahro Delta, she couldn’t afford to do anything else but persevere through her task.

Loath as she was to admit that.

“Caben and Stoke should have returned by now,” Omera said, setting the basket of krill down. “Do you think they found someone?”

Caben and Stoke were, strictly speaking, a silly pair. There was a reason the village thought it better to send them away than allow them to stay behind and try and sort out the mess that was left behind by the attack.

“Perhaps.” 

Or perhaps not.

Sorgan was sparsely populated, even during the highest of high seasons, and did little to attract the attention of anyone besides spotchka enthusiasts and migrant farmers. The thought that there was no one out there filled her with dread and she paused in her efforts to find the wayward droid arm.

She had been assured, time and time again, that the planets the Collective sent them to were nothing but safe.

“If they do not return, or the raiders attack again, what will you do?”

It was an innocent enough question, but she could see the instant angst it caused Omera and regretted asking.

“I do not know.”

Zirry went back to her task, unsure of whether or not it was her place to comfort the other woman. She had only known the villagers for as long as she had been doing her job, and even that was more often than not spent bent over a makeshift workbench away from the hustle and bustle of the small tribe, if there was such a thing here.

Her hand probed further down, pausing over each little bit of something that could maybe belong to the droid, before she finally found what she was looking for. She gave it a tug, careful not to mess up the already waterlogged mechanics any further. Although she was certain the blaster had done most of the damage, the krill had a nasty tendency to nibble on anything shiny that crossed their paths.

The arm didn’t budge and she was forced to tug harder.

“Son of a…” She yanked it, stumbling when the arm dislodged and her foot caught on a slick bit of moss as she fell backwards into the water.

Her mouth filled with krill water and she was reminded vividly of why her people eschewed nature with such ferocity.

She lifted the droid arm out of the water first as she struggled back to the surface under the weight of the fabric of her clothes. It was an ungraceful affair, full of flailing hands and flung mud. When she resurfaced, gasping for air like an ichthnyl fish, she was surprised to see that it was no longer Omera sitting next to the pod, but two newcomers. 

One was a well-muscled woman who did nothing to hide her amusement.

The other did not need to try and disguise his expression--it was a Mandalorian and he had a blaster pointed directly at her. 

She should have stayed home. 

It was a rather unfortunate thing, to be threatened by a Mandalorian in such a vulnerable position, but Zirry was able to keep a straight face as she stared down the barrel of the blaster, at the very least. The arm holding the droid dropped slightly, but she didn't dare let it go beneath the water again. She had half a mind to fling it at him-- the domey forehead of his helmet was particularly attractive to her at the moment-- but then thought better of it when she caught a glimpse of the amount of weapons strapped all over his person. 

Instead, she waited for him to move. 

The woman shifted in place, her muscles flexing in a half-hearted show of intimidation that did not meet her face. 

“She’s a friend.” 

The Mandalorian lowered his blaster a fraction of an inch before he paused, expressionless helm remaining trained on the droid arm, before he turned towards Omera and seemed to forget Zirry’s existence entirely. 

It was just as well. 

She could have done without the whole interaction. 

“Need a hand?” The woman asked, mouth twisting with an apparent desire to laugh. Zirry waddled towards the edge of the pod, squelching and squishing her way through years of slime and dead krill, until she made it to the edge and was able to hand the droid arm to the woman and lift herself out of the water. She was thankful for the temperate climate of Sorgan when she flopped onto the bank, imagining the indignity of shivering on top of being covered in krill mess to be much worse. The woman continued to watch her, even going so far as to lean over Zirry ever so slightly. 

“I’m Cara.” 

“Zirry.” She began to shake out her clothes, grimacing when she saw how dirty the water was. Instead of focusing on that, she turned towards the other woman and observed her as best she could without making it too obvious. She wasn’t terribly tall or overly broad, but she was practically all muscle. Even her hands, which were at the moment preoccupied with turning the droid arm over and over, looked absolutely lethal. This assessment was further solidified when Zirry found the Rebel tattoo carefully masquerading as a birthmark just below her left eye. 

Her shoulders stiffened. 

Rebels. Imperials. She would just as soon forget the whole lot of them existed. 

Mandalorians, she decided, could be added to that list as well. 

“You’re not from here.” Cara stepped back to allow Zirry a little more room and held out the arm to return it to her. 

“No, I’m not.” Best to keep it vague, for the time being. “I’m just passing through, same as you.” 

“And fishing for krill?” 

“Fishing for droid parts. The raiders used it for target practice. Blew his poor little arm clean off.” Zirry looked down at the arm in question, really taking in the damage for the first time. The wiring was completely frayed at the edges, but salvageable, if she had the parts for it. She started towards her workshop, Cara hot on her heels. “He likes to be called Roddy.” 

“He?” 

“The droid....” Zirry trailed off, spotting the door to the barn standing open and a little green creature staring back at her. “What’s that?” 

She wasn't going to say it was the most adorable thing she had ever seen, but it would certainly rank very high on whatever list it found itself on. Zirry moved forward, bending down ever so slightly as she did, and continued to stare. Its eyes seemed far too large for the size of its head, ears doubly so, but they only served to endear it to her further. She held out her empty hand and stretched it forward, heart swelling when the little one did the same. 

“Back up.” 

Zirry did not realize how close she had gotten until the Mandalorian stopped her in her place, blaster once again pointed directly at her. 

“If you’re going to keep pointing that at me, you might as well shoot me.” 

Zirry stood up to her full height and folded her arms across her chest in a show of defiance. Or at least, an attempt at one. When he seemed undeterred, she changed her position again, setting her hands on her hips for half a moment until she realized that came across as petulant rather than strong. When she moved her arms for the third time, the Mandalorian let out a scoff and holstered the weapon turning his back on her once again, although not before scooping the little green creature off the ground. 

“You might not want to invite him to shoot you next time.” Cara came up behind her, bearing witness to the whole embarrassing display. “He might just do it.” 

“I called his bluff.” 

“No, he just didn't think you were much of a threat.” Cara clapped her on the shoulder. “I’m going to get something to eat.” 

Zirry scoffed as the other woman walked away, very much mirroring the sound that Mandalorian had just produced. She held her head just a little bit higher for good measure. She did not come to Sorgan to be insulted by a pair of mercenaries. She came to do a job, and do it she would, even if it meant waiting a few more days. 

Marching forward and doing her level best to look unaffected-although the squeaking of her wet shoes greatly diminished the ability for her to do so- she walked into the barn. She had set up shop there shortly after arriving. It was rudimentary but no less serviceable and had been the perfect spot to take apart the droids. Until now. Now it seemed she would have to share the space with a surly Mandalorian, a little green sprogget, and a blaster bolt riddled droid with no arm and a water-logged central processing unit. 

The Mandalorian had stopped just inside, blocking her path to the droid. The child stared at her from over his shoulder, eyes practically glowing with excitement. Its ears bobbed up and down, pausing only when they got caught on the edge of his helmet. She resisted the urge to reach out and stroke them, imagining they were soft as a qwella tail and smooth like Ivcar silk. 

They stared at each other, pale blue meeting liquid brown. 

“Why is _that_ in here?” The Mandalorian was a gruff man, that much was clear from even the shortest of sentences. 

“What?” 

“The droid.” 

“He was here first.” Zirry sidestepped him, perhaps angering him even more of the sudden uptick in his shoulders was anything to go on. “And you shouldn’t be so rude while he’s indisposed.” 

“He?” 

“The droid. I thought I was making that clear.” She had laid out the droid on an old wooden table, chassis splayed open and wires pulled out for better access. Next to it, another smaller droid sat half assembled, and behind it were several boxes of spare parts. “Are you staying in here?” 

“No,” He said, turning towards the door before she could even begin to clean up the mess. “I will be more comfortable outsi…”

“Is something wrong?” Omera stood at the edge of the door, balancing a tray of food and drink against her middle. She looked between them, sensing some of the tension that Zirry was certain had seeped into the room. She was a gentle soul, perfectly suited for a quiet life on Sorgan, and Zirry had come to quite like the older woman. When neither of them answered, she seemed to think better of her question and instead changed the subject. “I brought you some food.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And Zirry, I left a plate for you by Cara.” 

Apparently, the droid would have to wait.

* * *

“You any good with a blaster?” 

Elbow deep in droid guts, Zirry had been mostly oblivious to the rumblings outside until the Mandalorian stepped into the barn. The sun was all but gone for the day, leaving her with only a ring light perched precariously on a few wicker baskets for light. 

“Technically, yes. Realistically, no.” 

Silence. 

Zirry lifted up a modulator device just below where the cooling unit was supposed to rest, snipping the last of the wires. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” 

“Yes.” 

More silence. 

Zirry let out a low whistle. 

Things were going to get terribly uncomfortable soon if neither of them was willing to speak. She thought of the sorts of conversation topics that might be palatable to a Mandalorian. Number of people killed, perhaps, or favorite place to push someone off a cliff. She even considered asking him why one leg of his armor didn’t match the rest before she thought better of it. 

“You’re Ivcaha.” He said after another long moment, voice coming from the other side of the barn from her. He had put as much distance between them as possible. She tried not to take offense at that. 

“Omera told you.” 

“She did.” 

“I am, although I don't see how that is any of your business.” 

“You’re a long way from home.” 

“Only temporarily.” She dropped the modulator to the side and began to peel back the thin metal casing of the cooling device, hoping that she would not need to fix it as well. “Did you see the AT-ST?” 

“The tracks.” His voice was quiet, causing her to strain ever so slightly to hear him. There was something in the way he said it that sounded weary. For a moment she thought of asking him, of satisfying the kernel of curiosity that had suddenly bloomed in her chest. “They will need your help.” 

“I’m not a mercenary.” 

“Neither are they.” 

She pursed her lips. “Do you have plans for the AT-ST?” 

“Cara has a few.” 

“They have a weak spot, you know.” The cooling united was undamaged, although it had jostled a bit when the droid slammed into the ground. Carefully lifting it up, she cut through each wire individually, making sure to keep the live ones separate and clearly marked. Finally comfortable leaving the wires as they were, she turned around and looked at him. 

He leaned back against the storage racks, arms folded across his chest. His rifle had been set to the side of his things, although he still wore the blaster on his leg. If relaxation weren’t impossible for a man like him, she would think it looked like something similar. 

“Tell me.” 

“In droids of their size, there are typically three to four structural weak points. In smaller units, those tend to cluster closer to the CPU. In an AT-ST, depending on the year it was manufactured and whether or not the builder took any shortcuts, those weak points get spread out. It helps to think of it like a person. On a child, the weakest parts are, by necessity, all closer to the vital bits. On an adult, they get spread out.” 

The Mandalorian simply stared, the black glass on his helmet revealing nothing. 

It was unnerving and she fought the desire to look away as she continued explaining. “The legs are always weak. They get made that way to make them easier to replace. Aim for those first and the rest should take care of itself.” 

“Should.” 

“Yes, _should_. No two droids are the same.” 

The Mandalorian stood up and left without saying anything else. Zirry would be offended, if her attention were not already back on the droid splayed out in front of her. She leaned forward, only after shooting a confirming look over her shoulder to make sure the Mandalorian was actually gone, and pressed her forehead against the cool metal of its head. She closed her eyes and breathed, focusing all her energy to one place in her mind. 

The soft whirl of mechanics caused a small smile and she leaned back, pleased to see her friend alive and well, despite it all. 

“You gave me quite the scare, Roddy.”

The droid cooed, soft like a bird and thoroughly miserable at its current state. She could understand. She imagined it would be quite traumatizing to wake up with all her insides missing. 

“Shhh,” She said, touching the top of the droid’s head. “Best keep this between us for now. We don’t want to scare the locals now do we?” 

“Who are you speaking to?” Winta appeared at the door without preamble, freshly retrieved pog stick tucked into the side of her work skirt. Zirry removed her hand and turned around, smiling at the inquisitive girl as she did her best to cover up the droid with the widest part of her body. 

“Myself.” 

“You’re strange, but Mama says I’m not supposed to tell you that.” 

Zirry smirked, admiring the girl’s precociousness despite how close she had come to catching her in the act. What exactly that act was, she was not entirely sure. But the flush of anxiety that bloomed in her chest and the surge of power that coursed through her veins made it abundantly clear whatever peculiar affinity she had for droids was best kept to herself for the time being. 

“Are you coming outside?” Winta asked. 

“Of course, Roddy needs to dry out a bit anyway before I can fix him up.” 

Winta smiled and grabbed her arm, dragging her away from her work bench before she had time to protest. As they left the small workshop, Zirry glanced back, watching the droid for just long enough to see the lights fizzle off and it slip back into unconsciousness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is going to be a Mandalorian / sequel trilogy story that, hopefully, fixes some of the issues I had with the overall story telling that happened for some key characters. AKA Rey. If you know what I mean.


End file.
